We salute and exit, as the Instructor watches us with his grim, serious gaze. For some reason he looks affected—if only for a brief fleeting moment. Indeed, it seems to me that Mithrat Okoi feels far more than he ever lets on. And right now, his gaze is telling us goodbye.
My Language class is next. Instructor Chior Kla speaks to us in pure Atlanteo, and surprisingly, after all these months of conversational practice, I and the rest of the class actually understand most of what she is saying. It’s a strange feeling to hear the lilting beautiful language and feel the meaning coalesce at last.
“May you find and attain all your fondest wishes and dreams when you arrive on your new home, Atlantida,” Instructor Kla says in her beautiful, emotionally charged voice. “You might be afraid and worried now, but you will be pleasantly surprised by what you’ll find. Now that you are speaking our language, you will understand our thought processes so much better, and it will help you adjust. Think of it as another useful tool. Use the language well!”
And later on, in Culture class, we get a very similar sentiment from Instructor Nilara Gradat. “I have no doubt, you will fall in love, and so will the people of Atlantis when they meet all of you,” she says to us, in parting. “It has been an unforgettable experience for me personally to have taken this journey with you, to Earth and back. Please, do not hesitate to keep in touch with me after we land. I will leave my personal contact instructions for you. In my regular life I teach at the Lyceum School in the coastal city Thetis Nereo, so if you are ever in the area, please come see me!”
Meanwhile, in Technology and Systems class, once again held in the garden paradise that is Hydroponics, Klavit Xotoi, our Tech instructor, gives us an inspirational rundown of career options for technically inclined Civilians. “You can apply for entry level jobs in most of our industries, as soon as we land,” he says. “Or you can enroll in more advanced courses to get better positions. My recommendation is to take that entry level work and at the same time attend extra training courses in your off hours, especially if you decide to stay and make your home in the capital, Poseidon, or the provinces. You have many options, and as Earth refugees who have proven your various talents and skills simply by Qualifying for Atlantis, you will be in demand. Good luck, everyone!”
By the end of the afternoon, I have the final Combat Training class with Oalla Keigeri. “We will go through the Twelve Forms only one time, since it is our last class,” she tells us seriously.
And we do.
By now, we are quite proficient in Er-Du, and we look good doing it—double rows of Cadets sharply lined up, moving in tandem and showing fierce elegance.
I admit, I feel a twinge of pride that I’m one of the better students here. Especially since my one-on-one personal training with Xelio for the last several months, I’ve been showing marked improvement, and now I’m possibly in the top five percent of the class in Sparring and Forms, and possibly in the top twenty percent in Yellow Quadrant Weapons. I am also glad that Oalla notices and approves. I haven’t had a demerit in her class for anything, in ages. . . .
When we finish the final Form and grow still, Oalla paces before us in silence. “You have done well, Cadets!” she says at last, in a hard ringing voice. “I am honored to have every one of you serve on my ship, if it comes to it, and to fight alongside me if necessary. My final evaluations of your performance will be logged and analyzed during your interviews tomorrow. And now, Salute, Cadets! Show me your pride with the Form Salute of Atlantida!”
We salute and are dismissed. Oalla stands silently watching us file out of the classroom. She wears a hard, controlled expression on her face, but just as in the case of Instructor Mithrat Okoi, I realize she is holding back emotion.
And on that note, my classes are done.
I haven’t had a Court Protocol Class with Consul Denu, but he informs me we will likely be continuing the lessons for quite some time, even after we land on Atlantis, and that’s why there is no need for a class during this busy week. “I will see you shortly, my dear,” he tells me graciously in passing as I come by his residence. “Right now, you and I and everyone on board will be busy with the arrival preparations. But fear not, you will have the fair opportunity to see me before we land.”
That evening there is only one thing left—my voice lesson with Kassiopei.
However, once again I receive a curt lesson cancellation email: “No voice lesson tonight. I will see you tomorrow at this time for your final evaluation interview. —A. K.”
And as soon as I see it, I am thrown into a cold terror. . . .
This is it. The thing I’ve been waiting for, and working for, all year, to see if he will judge me qualified and improved enough in all my general abilities, and permit me to enter the Games of the Atlantis Grail. . . .
And then another frightening and long-suppressed memory comes to me—the mysterious detail he mentioned in our conversation after the Final Quantum Stream Race, regarding the true nature of the asteroid. “They will only send another,” he had said back then. For that reason, now all my best laid plans may not even matter in the greater scheme of things.
But then, I remind myself, I still don’t know anything, and I can only go by what I know. My best bet to save my family is still to pursue the Citizenship and the Games of the Atlantis Grail.
And so I resolve to stand firm when I talk to the CP tomorrow.
Right now, my family is all I have left—the last ray of hope left to me, in the general sea of despair in which I’ve been living for these past several days since we danced the dance that broke my heart.
Chapter Forty-Five
The next day I spend waiting with trepidation for my evening interview with Kassiopei. When I go in to the CCO in the morning, the CP is not there, and according to Anu, he’s dealing with Storage deck procedures, as the crew is getting ready to begin the long and careful process of unloading everything as soon as we achieve Atlantis orbit in about three days from now.
“They have to plan very extensively how to unload,” Gennio adds. “The process is not just a reversal of the loading procedure. They also have to account for where the things will end up and in what order.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Well, some of the things will be delivered on different continents. Also, some things will have to wait until the more favorable weather conditions are on the surface. . . . For example, different parts of the seed bank that contains all the specimens of the plant life and animal species on Earth, will be delivered to different landing sites for proper storage.”
“I see.”
He nods. “And the great works of Art from Earth will be divided between various museums in different cities. I believe the Imperial Poseidon Museum will take in most of your Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt into their permanent collection. On the other hand, the Sekar Mehet Museum will take Sandro Botticelli, Vincent van Gogh, the Terracotta Army sculptures of Qin Shi Huang, the complete Parthenon building that will be eventually reassembled on site—”
“Wow!” I exclaim.
“—and the whole Great Pyramid of Giza, which of course took up the storage capacity of an entire ark-ship, just to house its components—”
“Wow!”
Gennio smiles. “Oh, yes, don’t worry, we saved nearly everything.”
For some reason it occurs to me to ask: “What about the two paintings from the Huntington in California? ‘Pinkie’ and ‘Blue Boy?’”
“I can look it up right now.” Gennio keys in something on his console and nods. “Yes, here they are, works by Thomas Lawrence and Thomas Gainsborough. They’re currently on Ark-Ship 845, Storage Deck section 57.”
I put my hand up to my mouth, as a welling of tears nearly overpowers me.
Gennio looks at me kindly, and then adds, “It will make you happy to know that we have safely in storage the entire contents of the Huntington Library and Art Gallery. Though, I am sorry we could not take the Botanical Gardens.�
��
I break down and bawl.
The day drags on, and then it’s 8:00 PM and time for my evaluation interview.
I arrive at the CCO with my heart pounding in my chest, and a cold sweat is breaking out even before I enter the office.
Aeson Kassiopei is at his desk, with two monitor screens active, but he appears distracted. He sees me and immediately his expression hardens and becomes inscrutable.
“Come in, Lark,” he says coldly. “Take a seat.”
I silently approach and take my usual chair before his desk. My palms are sweating, my forehead is damp, and I feel like I’m about to faint with terror.
Aeson glances at me once, then makes a point of looking at something on one of his screens.
“I have here,” he says, “your official record. It now includes the notes and recommendations from all your Instructors.”
“Okay,” I mutter.
He turns and looks directly at me, for a long silent moment. I meet his gaze and it’s like staring at the sun. I cannot endure it.
“Would you like to know what your Instructors think?” he asks, and it seems his voice is taunting me.
“Yes. . . .”
“Very well. Overall, your scores are very good across the board. Your Pilot Training Instructor Mithrat Okoi tells me that judging by your drastic rate of improvement combined with your demonstrated abilities, you would make a fine Cadet. He also recommends for you to formally apply to Fleet School and he’ll give you a personal recommendation to advance you to second year level accelerated instruction. He gives you a 4 out of 5 possible score.”
“Oh, wow,” I say, trying not to look into his eyes for too long because I just can’t. “Is that good?”
“A four is very good. Instructor Okoi is a harsh judge and does not give fives at all, with a few rare exceptions. I know, because he was my instructor too, when I was a Cadet in Fleet School.”
“Oh, really?” And immediately I wonder what score Kassiopei himself received as a young Cadet. “So, who were the exceptions, if I may ask?”
For one moment Aeson seems uncomfortable. And then he says, “One of the exceptions was someone you know—Xelio Vekahat. Okoi gave Xel a five for excellence.”
I feel a tiny smile gathering on my lips at the thought of Xelio. “I can certainly believe that,” I say. “Makes all kinds of sense.”
Aeson Kassiopei watches my fleeting smile and my reaction, and he blinks. “Speaking of Xelio Vekahat—he is not your formal Instructor, but I’m aware that he’s been helping you train and work out on a regular basis.”
“Oh, yes.” I nod. “Xelio has helped me improve my Er-Du Forms tremendously, and he’s been training me with weapons too.”
“Good,” Aeson says, glancing away from me and back at the display screen. I notice his voice has become hard, resonant. “Because I have here some informal recommendations from Xelio, and he tells me he thinks you are spectacular, superlative, and are ready for any challenge you might take on—his words, not mine.”
My face erupts with a sudden blush. “Wow . . . I had no idea he thinks so highly of me.”
Command Pilot Kassiopei watches me with a strange expression. “Surprising that you might not know what Xel thinks of you,” he says suddenly.
He is jealous!
“Well, no,” I backtrack, as my face blushes a deeper red. “I know that Xel seems to enjoy my company, I just had no idea he thought so highly of my fighting abilities. I find it super encouraging actually!”
“Fine—moving on.” Aeson simply nods, and continues as though this is of little consequence. “Your Culture Instructor Nilara Gradat tells me you stand out because you ask so many good questions, and recommends you for any field you might choose, but particularly in communications. She does not give out formal grades, but gives you the equivalent of a 5 out of 5. So does your Language Instructor Chior Kla, who thinks your linguistic abilities are superior, and you have become very proficient in Atlanteo—”
“Oh, no,” I say, somewhat flustered. “I hardly think I can speak it at all. In fact I don’t think I’m ready to even ask for directions on the street—”
He raises one brow. “Regardless, you get 5 out of 5 from Instructor Kla.”
I bite my lip and listen.
“Next, I have your Combat Instructor Oalla Keigeri. Oalla thinks you have improved tremendously and come a long way. She gives you a 4 out of 5 and thinks you can be a Cadet easily. However she makes a note here that she believes you will likely not become a Cadet because your interests are too varied—and yes, she knows all about your so-called greater aspirations—so she withholds her recommendation until you make up your mind and make the required effort to choose the Fleet over other career options.”
He glances at me, to gauge my reaction, but I remain silent.
“Finally,” he says, “I have here the glowing recommendation from Consul Denu, who does not give a grade but thinks you have the intelligence, flexibility, and cleverness to do very well as a public servant. Coming from Consul Denu, this is high praise indeed.”
“Oh,” I say. “Please relay my deepest thanks to the Consul.”
“Relay them yourself,” he says with a shadow of a smile.
I nod. “I will.”
There is a pause. Aeson swings both display screens out of the way and faces me, with his hands palms down on the desk surface. “Now,” he says. “My own evaluation.”
My heartbeat lurches wildly. I clench my hands underneath the desk.
“Lark.” His voice is composed and neutral. “It is an undisputed fact that you are bright, intelligent, and extraordinarily talented. Your achievements with the Logos voice are so far beyond the norm that I will not bother to give you a grade—not because I am unwilling, but because I’m simply incapable of evaluating you properly at such a high level. What you did with the Quantum Stream alone puts your abilities in a separate category. So, more of your voice training will be continued on Atlantis, but with dedicated specialist experts other than myself.”
“You will no longer train me?” I say, forgetting to be nervous and suddenly feeling a terror of a different sort.
“No.” He briefly glances down at his hands, taps his fingers against the desk lightly. “In fact, I will no longer see you on a regular basis.”
“Oh. . . .” The sinking feeling washes over me, a dark wave of despair.
He looks up at me. “Officially, you are still a part of my staff, an Aide to the CCO, at least until designated otherwise by the Imperator. However, I don’t expect you’ll be in that position for long. As soon as we land, you will be introduced to your voice related duties, in addition to any career choice you might make. And yes, at some point you will be admitted before my Father at the Imperial Court—to that end you will continue to study with Consul Denu, to perfect your facility with Imperial Court Protocol. But for the moment, you have a choice before you.”
He pauses, resuming the movement of his fingers along the surface of the desk. “So, what will it be, Lark? Cadet or Civilian?”
I furrow my brow and face him. And I begin to speak in a careful measured voice, because what I’m saying now is about to determine everything. “Command Pilot Kassiopei, I choose neither. I still choose to become a Citizen. You said, back at the beginning of this journey, that at the end of the year you will evaluate my abilities, and as you can see I have come a long way. So, with your kind permission, I am going to enter the Games of the Atlantis Grail as I’ve always planned.”
A long terrifying moment of silence, during which he looks at me, cold as ice.
“No,” he says. “You will not. Gwen Lark, after reviewing your abilities and your personal record, I officially forbid you. And my decision is final. So I ask you again—Cadet or Civilian?”
Like a sudden twister falling out of the sky, fury rises inside me. I am so angry that I feel my head spin with vertigo. I open my mouth and take a deep breath, just to hold down the wild madness inside me. And th
en I lean forward, hands still clenched under my desk, now becoming white-knuckled fists.
“Command Pilot,” I say, enunciating every word with barely controlled violence. “I have worked a whole year. . . . I did everything that was asked of me, and I have fought for this opportunity with every breath in my body. . . . So the least you can do is tell me why—why you cut off the last bit of hope left to me, why you make this stone-cold decision, knowing that it means everything?”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you, Lark,” he replies, leaning forward also, and staring at me with terrifying eyes.
“Well, then,” I say with a sneer, “I suppose I don’t have to explain anything to you either, when I spit on your ‘decision’ and simply do what I planned to do all along!”
I start to rise out of my seat. I am so mindlessly angry now, I cannot breathe. . . . And in that crazy moment I don’t care if I die—I don’t care what he does to me, how he punishes me, what he says. . . .
“Stop!” His power voice cuts through the blinding fury roiling in my mind. And although it does not affect me on any level, it breaks through the hurricane inside me enough to give me a moment of clarity.
“Sit down,” he says with force. “I understand the emotional state you’re in right now, and it has blinded you to reason. For that, I will cut you some slack. But if you continue—if you do anything that goes against my decision, I will have you restrained and incarcerated as soon as we land on Atlantis. Do you understand? You will not disobey me!”
Like hell I won’t. . . .
I return to my seat and tremble, while fury continues to ride me, in waves of darkness. Command Pilot Kassiopei, you have no idea. . . . You just wait and see . . . I think, starting to seethe, almost gleefully, on the inside. You wait and see. . . .
I do not accept this . . . I do not. . . .
He watches me—watches me shaking. Does he suspect what’s going on inside me? Apparently it does not matter. Because he remains unresponsive, like stone . . . waiting.
Compete Page 51